


Fake Wedding

by toxicdotaep (RacheTanz)



Category: John Dies at the End - David Wong
Genre: Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Love Confessions, Multi, aka amy tries Really Hard to get these two easily-scared idiots to admit how they feel, also uhhh nonbinary john rights. i said what i said-, amy knows what's up before either of the other two do, and it goes Extremely Well !, by gays for gays, dave deserves to be happy and loved and i will die on that hill, dave is in some hardcore denial, except then it isnt, fake relationship to real relationship, john is just. being john, pretty much entirely fluff, this is all just some goofy fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:42:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24248257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RacheTanz/pseuds/toxicdotaep
Summary: Like most of John's ideas, his plan to get some gifts and/or money out of a few hapless billionaires goes sideways. And then he calls Dave.
Relationships: Amy Sullivan/David Wong, John Cheese/Amy Sullivan/David Wong
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to Ben/canadaisnolonger.tumblr.com for Essentially Co-Writing This with me we both came up w the Idea based on that one tumblr post that's been passed around for Ages. also they helped me write jokes when my brain just went fucking Kaput towards the end. thanks sibling

The phone rang at five in the morning. Well, saying it _rang_ was pretty generous. It screamed, screamed with John’s voice from the fact Dave couldn’t be fucking bothered to change it at this point. Dave answered the phone and was about to groggily tell John to go fuck himself, it was 5 A.M., when John blurted, “Dave, we have to get married.” 

Dave blinked blankly at the cup of water on his nightstand. It had a film of dust on its surface. He was certain he heard John wrong. “...What?” He croaked. 

“Listen, okay, so I made up a set of fake wedding invitations, right, and I sent them off to, like, a handful of billionaires, because I figured their assistants would just send me some shit without checking, because I mean, who would RSVP for a wedding in _this_ fuckin’ town? And yeah, okay, I _maybe_ put your name down as my partner for shits and giggles—but look— _listen_ —one of them _fuckin’ RSVP’d_ , man, so, I mean…” 

“Slow down. Hold the fuckin’ phone. Why’d you put _my_ goddamned name down?” 

“It was a joke! I don’t know, you… were the first person who came to mind? Dude, that’s not the important part, some fuckin’ millionaire is coming to a wedding that doesn’t exist in 3 months.” 

Dave stared at the water again, gears in his head turning painfully slowly. He was awake now, that was for fucking sure, but it was a lot to process all at once. Somehow, more than the usual weird bullshit that John called him for. He never thought he’d wish for another potentially-life-threatening weird-ass scenario but here he was, desperately wishing John had called him to say his shoes gained sentience and tried to gnaw off his big toe and he needed Dave’s help to wrangle them. 

He realized a little too late that John was chattering again. “...wouldn’t be, like, a _real_ wedding, obviously. I mean I didn’t even propose or anything. But, you know, unless we wanna forfeit the gifts—”

“We?”

“Well, yeah. It would be _our_ wedding. Uh, fake wedding. _We_ ’d get to keep the cool shit.” 

Dave mulled that over, his sleepy brain trying to chew through the concept like it was a particularly tough piece of meat. How much trouble could a shitty, fake wedding be, if they got some expensive gifts out of it? Or even just some cash? Rent wouldn't pay itself. “Alright,” he yawned, “I’m in.”

“You are?” John sounded suspiciously excited. 

That should have been Dave’s first red flag. 

* * *

The second one should have been John showing up at his house the next morning (luckily after he’d had a chance to explain the entire mess to Amy, who nearly fell off the couch laughing at them) talking about having to get everything coordinated. Dave wasn’t sure if he should feel relieved or deeply, deeply alarmed by Amy taking way more of an interest in it than him. Considering he was her boyfriend, she seemed pretty enthusiastic about the idea of marrying him off to his best friend. 

That was a sentence he didn’t like thinking of. 

John was more concerned with having a fun party, but Amy was dedicated to making it seem realistic enough to fool at least one billionaire. Or millionaire. John couldn’t keep straight which it was, and Dave was starting to not care. It wasn’t even a real wedding and he was starting to get cold feet, just from the spectacle of it all. He didn’t want to be the center of attention, even if he’d be sharing that spotlight with John. He just didn’t like it. But he couldn’t say no to Amy, and he couldn’t back out now, anyways, and to be honest he did really want a cut of whatever John would be getting. If it was fancy shit they could actually use, great, but if it were fancy shit they could pawn for some cash, that’d be perfect. Rent wasn’t cheap, Amy’s job didn’t pay very much, and Dave still didn’t have a job. It’d be nice to be comfortable if only for a little bit, so he knuckled down and went through with it. Having ignored the first two red flags, he assumed this wouldn’t end poorly, and would just be like another one of John’s weird parties he’d drag Dave to, despite Dave not enjoying social events. (That being said, Dave never truly said ‘no, I won’t go,’ and brushed that off as just wanting to mooch off someone else’s booze. He’d never admit it was solely because when John asked him he gave him that _look_ that said John was asking more for his own sake than Dave’s, somehow.) So he decided to just prepare himself for an exhausting social event, like it _wasn’t_ a fake-wedding in which he’d get fake-married to his genuine-best friend. 

In hindsight, he really shouldn’t’ve been that hopeful. Not only was it stupid of him, it was terribly out-of-character, and he didn’t really understand why he let himself be so optimistic.

His third red flag should have been the entire collective whirlwind of a process of setting up this entire thing, which, from the looks of the plans Dave barely paid attention to, was going to start out as a normal-ish wedding and then, after the typical wedding nonsense, devolve into a typical John party. Nothing too out-of-the-ordinary in terms of how John’s ideas went, though Dave was pretty grateful that Amy was there to back him up when he put the kibosh on some of John’s more ludicrous ideas. While he was still pretty sure things would get out of hand, because any plan John came up with was usually half-baked and left plenty of opportunity to go off the rails, it helped that Amy was at least trying to make the scheme seem believable enough for a complete stranger. Their friends (well, John’s friends) were mostly in on it, in the sense that they knew it was fake, of course—Dave _was_ engaged to Amy, after all—and the rest of Undisclosed wasn’t even invited, though Dave was sure word would get around, somehow. He just hoped the story was clear that it was fake. 

He wouldn’t admit he thought of that being more for John and Amy’s sake than his own.

* * *

The biggest red flag of all should’ve been when John dragged him to the nearest mall (a town over) to go shopping for a suit. To no one’s surprise, Dave didn’t own anything nicer than one ill-fitting collared shirt and that one pair of jeans he miraculously hadn’t spilled anything on yet. So, John insisted on buying him a suit, and going-with, of course. Amy tagged along, too, because apparently these sorts of things needed a whole entourage. 

As Dave looked in the shitty little changing room mirror at himself, wearing what he felt was the most ill-suited suit to exist, he couldn’t help but remark to himself that he looked like he was going to a damned funeral. _Who died? Dave’s self-confidence, of course!_ He **never** felt right in a suit. Classy clothes and all that shit wasn’t what he was made for—he was too ‘white trash’ for that—and when he looked in the mirror he felt like he looked more like the Fat Controller than a groom. All he needed was that stupid hat. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was how whatever wedding Amy would want was going to go, and he quickly buried the thought, not wanting to draw any connections between this wedding and the real one that was supposedly in his future.

Amy knocked on the door, startling him out of his head. “Hey, you gonna come out here, or what?” 

“Yeah, hang on,” he mumbled, pausing for a second to ruffle a hand through his hair. It didn’t help. He really wasn’t enjoying the fact that Amy wanted to make a whole fashion show out of this. Why couldn’t they just go in, get suits for both of them, then leave again? Why even bother? He wished John had backed him up when he dug in his heels, but he could never say no to Amy and they both knew that, and they both knew John was absolutely manipulating that, for whatever reason. 

He sighed, gave up on looking less-shitty, and opened the fitting room door, already sour-faced. He could see John at the end of the hall, standing in front of a mirror and admiring himself. He looked good, because of course he did, it wasn’t nearly as much of a struggle to fit his lanky ass into clothes. He turned as Dave approached, and for a split second Dave considered turning around and walking back into the fitting room, but then John’s eyes lit up and he waved and Dave knew he was trapped. 

“Stand in front of the mirror, let’s get a good look at you!” Amy called from behind John, and Dave wanted to wither into nothing before he even stepped in front of the mirror. 

It was far too clean for a public mirror—in fact, the cleanliness of this whole place bothered him a little—and he felt like he could see even more flaws in his face than usual. He rarely looked in the mirror longer than it took to brush his teeth.

“I look like shit.” He stared at himself in the mirror blankly.

“You look _lovely_ ,” John countered.

“Very handsome.” Amy added, and Dave could see her reflection nod.

It didn’t change Dave’s mind. “I feel like a glitter-covered dog turd.” 

John stepped up behind him, looping one arm over his shoulders, and grinned at him in the mirror. “Do you _also_ feel like my future husband?” Dave heard Amy struggle to muffle a snort behind them and his face burned with an intensified embarrassed heat.

Dave glared up at John. “You call me that again, and I’ll _deck_ you, John.” He growled as venomously as he could. Amy lost her shit from behind them as John’s eyes went a little wide, though his grin didn’t dissipate.

He patted Dave on the shoulder, then let go, backing off. “I still think you look great.” 

Dave wasn’t entirely sure why, but something about that moment really stuck with him. John seemed almost sheepish or something—but that couldn’t be right. John wasn’t capable.

As if to further prove that point, as Dave was trying to fit into the second suit they’d picked out for him—this one was a slightly darker black, according to Amy, but Dave could only tell if he squinted—he heard a bit of a commotion out in the hall and, just instinctively, knew John was up to something stupid. Until he got his shirt on, though, he’d let it be someone else’s problem. With any luck, it’d stop being a problem before he got his shirt on. 

Another gentle knock came at the fitting-room door, this time followed by Amy saying, “You have _got_ to see this.” 

“Alright, hang on,” Dave mumbled, shrugging on the suit jacket and buttoning it a bit hastily. What in the hell was even happening out there?

He shoved open the fitting-room door, looking around for Amy, and spotted her at the end of the hall near the mirror. She turned and waved him over, snickering into her sleeve the entire time, and so he walked up to her, peering around the corner to see something he didn’t exactly expect, but by this point in his life, probably should have. 

John twirled once, looking at himself in the mirror, and mid-spin noticed Dave standing there, baffled. He stopped, turning to face his audience of two, grinning hugely, and the first thing out of Dave’s mouth was, “Why do you actually look nice?” 

It was a floor-length, overdramatic, poofy white dress, because of course it was, and it genuinely did suit John alarmingly well. It wasn’t alarming because it was a dress—it’s not like Dave would give a shit what John chose to wear—but more because Dave was pretty sure he’d never seen John take to anything as much as he took to this absurdly overdramatic dress. It just felt _right_ , somehow, and everyone could tell.

At the same time John winked and purred, “You think I look nice?”, Amy supplied her own answer of, “Because he’s pretty, idiot.”

Dave was entirely outnumbered and flustered on two fronts there, so he just kept his mouth shut and shrugged. John laughed brightly. “Don’t you think it works, Dave?”

“Sure.” Dave answered flatly, because he really wasn’t sure what else to say but he felt like he couldn’t stop staring.

* * *

Around the fifth time John decided to parade around in a random wedding dress, the novelty had worn off. When he asked Dave if he could borrow his socks so he could keep one dress from falling off his chest, and Dave had a vivid memory of what happened the last time he let John borrow his socks, he finally put his foot down and decided he’d had enough of dicking around in this shop and would like to go home now, please, they still had other shit to deal with. 

And so they left with two suits in tow, because even if John really could absolutely _rock_ that wedding dress neither of them really felt like stirring up even _more_ of a ruckus than this whole fake-wedding was already going to cause in Undisclosed… but Dave actually almost felt a little sorry for it. 

Sorry enough that he couldn’t quit thinking about it when he went to bed that evening, staring up at the ceiling, with Amy curled beside him. His brain had decided to latch onto and stew over one particular moment from that day and he couldn’t figure out why. It had been either the third or the fourth wedding dress John somehow got his hands on, and it had bizarre flowy sleeves, like it was halfway a poncho or something, but made out of lace. Dave wished he knew what the fuck it would be called, but he didn’t know jackshit about dresses at all, let alone wedding dresses. John kept posing dramatically and cracking jokes with Amy, and it was only once he laughingly declared it as “a dress that says ‘I murdered my husband for the inheritance money’” that whatever part of Dave’s brain he used for banter finally activated, and he’d immediately fired off a, “gee, should I be worried?” before promptly realizing what he’d said and having to take five minutes to reboot. 

_Why did he say that?_ He stared blankly at the greyish ceiling like somehow the stains on it would shift and align into an answer for him. Weirder shit had happened. Tragically, the stains were unhelpfully immobile, and he had to silently try and work through it himself. 

Amy was snoring softly on his shoulder, and usually that would lull him to sleep, but it seemed not even that would work this evening. His brain was too loud. He wanted to get up and watch some T.V. or something, but he felt immobilized, both by Amy so comfortably snuggled into him and his own lack of real motivation. Staring at the ceiling until she woke up seemed like a decent-enough plan. 

* * *

As the day drew closer, Dave felt… weird. He couldn’t place it. It was like anxiety, but not exactly. He couldn’t figure out if he was more worried about being a spectacle, or about whether or not this was going to somehow change him and John’s friendship. They’d gotten into all kinds of wild shit together before, of course, but nothing in the vein of a wedding, fake or otherwise. He’d think things like that—’fake or otherwise’—and have to catch himself, wondering why he’d ever assume a wedding that involved both him and John _wouldn’t_ be fake, but the moment he started to consider what was up with that he immediately wanted to shove the thought way back in a dark closet in his mind, because _holy shit, did he_ not _want to explore that avenue of thought whatsoever_. He decided to devote all of his energy to making sure this stupid debacle went off without a hitch. Being in front of so many damn people was already going to make him anxious as hell, he needed things to go as-planned or he might just freak the fuck out, and John didn’t need to deal with that. It could ruin the whole illusion. He’d been given one job: don’t fuck this up. He intended to do it to the best of his abilities. 

They didn’t have enough funds to get the fake priest guy to come out for a rehearsal, so this was a one-take-and-it’s-done kind of situation. The three had talked-over what would happen, of course, and the fake priest gave them an email script-of-sorts that John had been so kind as to print out and wad up in his pocket to bring over so that the three could be at least a little prepared. Dave hadn’t studied all of it, just enough. They’d written up fake vows that included John mentioning that time Dave flung a bowling ball so hard he managed to altogether get a strike, break part of the alley ceiling, and get them both banned from the venue, as well as the time they both burnt down Dave’s house, and some other stupid shit they’d done. Dave had followed his example and written his to include the amount of times he’d had to drive John’s dumb ass to a hospital because he’d broken an arm or a leg (or, one time, a few ribs) doing something reckless, and a subtle, not-truly-meant jab at how John kinda was the one to get them involved in this whole monster-fighting mess. He was fairly sure John wasn’t taking his vows seriously at all, and Dave was, of course, definitely not, but he could’ve sworn there was an odd sort of gleam to John’s eyes when he first read over them all. All Amy had for input was some grammatical corrections, but she did glance between the two of them several more times than Dave had felt were warranted while proofreading. Whether she was judging both their terrible grammatical skills, or thinking of something else entirely, he couldn’t tell. He wasn’t sure he wanted to, either.

* * *

The venue was the only church-like building in the entirety of Undisclosed that would put up with this farce. It was pretty big, and pretty fancy-looking, and honestly did a good job of selling the illusion. If Dave weren’t caught-up in the mess, he’d admire it. 

They’d decided, since their families weren’t there, and neither of them wanted to just stand alone awkwardly at the altar (more like, Dave didn’t want to be alone at the altar _or_ alone walking up the aisle) they would both walk up the aisle, to set the tone on this whole farce. (They’d entertained the idea of Amy walking Dave up the aisle, but eventually nixed it, lest it make the whole thing seem too genuine.) Despite the fact that he wouldn’t be alone during it, Dave was still entirely too nervous about all of it. 

They stood together outside the building, the guests already inside, and Dave was genuinely considering running away. John would probably forgive him, right?

A notification chimed on John’s phone, and he looped his arm through Dave’s. “Time to go, Dave!” He grinned. Dave couldn’t muster up an equal smile. “What’s up?”

“Nervous.” He admitted in a mutter. He was pretty embarrassed about it, actually, given they’d talked over this whole thing for three months now, but he _was_ nervous, and he probably couldn’t hide it from John. 

John gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t be,” he said in a surprisingly gentle tone, “it’ll all be over before you know it. And we’ll get some fucking cool gifts and shit out of it.”

Dave grunted. 

John paused, considering, then said, “Hey, at least no one’s naked this time.” 

Dave snorted. “Oh my god.” 

“Come on!” John tugged him gently forward, and together they shoved open the doors.

With that, the shitshow was on the road. The start was smooth sailing, entirely, going exactly as they’d planned, which may have been because the start was the _only_ thing they had planned. Still, they got to the mock altar they’d set up with neither of them tripping over anything, and nobody in the crowd did or said anything weird. It was just up to the two of them not to fuck anything up now.

Dave let his mind wander during the whole rambling thing the ‘priest’ they’d hired was doing, that whole in-sickness-and-health thing you always see on T.V., and zoned out staring at a weird vase behind John, on a pedestal close to the ceiling. He wondered who the hell put it up there, and if it was ever dusted off. He was not at all paying attention to the fact that the entire time, John was acutely focused on him, and actually—genuinely—smiling just a little. Dave just reflexively said “I do” a few moments after John had, paying attention enough to follow the ‘script’ of what he’d seen billions of times over and over in cheesy movies and TV shows. An easy pattern to follow. The ‘priest’ says some shit, John says two words, the ‘priest’ says a little more shit, Dave says two words. Then— 

“...You may now kiss the groom.”

And in that moment, Dave realized they hadn’t planned this far, and _oh shit, they should have planned this far_. He froze, eyes locked to John’s, the only thought in his mind an incredibly loud ‘fuck, now what?’ which, in retrospect, was a question he should have immediately shoved aside and devoted energy to answering because in that half-minute he stayed frozen, John got an idea. Before Dave could even think to react he felt arms wrap around his midsection and then gravity went wonky. He immediately latched onto John’s arms because fuck it, if he’s falling down—surely he’s fainting at the very _thought_ , right?—he’s going to take this bastard with him, but instead of falling over they both stopped somewhere that felt like halfway down. He suddenly registered that no, he wasn’t fainting, but John had grabbed him and dipped him as if they were dancing, blocking the audience’s view with his body. That should’ve been obvious by the cacophony of “oooh” from behind them, but it was _definitely_ made painfully obvious by John looming over him; that annoyingly cocky half-grin was right in his face, and _hey, why the hell was he suddenly sweating so much?_ He tightened his grip on John’s arms to what surely must have been a painful level—he could see it in the way John _almost_ winced—and glared firmly, like somehow if he looked pissed enough he could convince the both of them that this wasn’t affecting him at all. He knew it didn’t work, because if anything, John just smiled even wider, though something Dave didn’t recognize whatsoever crossed his eyes for a moment before John adjusted his grip a little and began to straighten up.

John pulled him back to his feet proper, to applause from the gathered audience, and Dave decided that if this stupid mess didn’t somehow end up killing them both, he was going to kill John himself. Still, he forced the glare off his face, just to not raise any questions. 

What followed next was one of the most bizarre blurs of Dave’s life, a clusterfuck of congratulations and cutting cake and then dancing (when John forced him to; that ‘couples dance’ or whatever-it-was was the most uncomfortable thing he’d ever experienced, and he was still trying to convince himself it was just because he didn’t like being the center of attention, rather than the fact it forced them to be in each other’s face for an extended period of time, which John seemed almost gleeful about). Despite the fact that neither had any of their family there (a fact Dave was pretty damned glad for), it was still a strangely stressful, chaotic several hours. By the time everything was all over and they were haphazardly cleaning up, it was dark, and Dave still didn’t feel drunk enough to be handling what was happening. 

John drove them to Dave’s place. Dave wasn’t sure why _his_ apartment was chosen to crash at after this whole mess, but he wasn’t complaining. It’s where all his shit was, anyways, and by now he’s pretty sure John had at least one outfit’s worth of clothes accidentally forgotten over there, too. 

Amy was halfway asleep in the backseat of the Bronco, head resting on the window, and Dave felt about the same, too, but kept up a light banter with John just to stay awake. He couldn’t help but feel relieved all this weird bullshit was over, particularly given they actually got some cool shit out of it. Or, he supposed they did. They hadn’t gotten to open the gifts, they were too busy immediately getting as wasted as they could. 

That being said… it wasn’t all that bad, if he was being honest.

* * *

Dave sank into the couch with a wheeze. He felt too tired to even peel himself out of this shitty suit and he could tell by the way John flopped down right next to him that it was a shared feeling. “Why was that so fucking tiring?” He groaned, running a hand over his face. 

“That’s how weddings are when you’re, like, _in_ them, not just partying at them,” John guessed. 

“Why does anyone do them, then?”

John didn’t have an answer for that. Dave actually glanced over to make sure the jackass hadn’t fallen asleep on his couch, but he was still awake, staring blankly at the ceiling. Dave hadn’t noticed that when John plunked down next to him on the couch, he really was _right_ next to him until then, and he surreptitiously tried to shuffle over slightly, to give a little space. He hit the armrest and realized he was just stuck there. 

John suddenly spoke again. “Think anybody noticed we didn’t actually kiss?” 

“Why the hell would they _care_?” 

John didn’t answer that one, either. It was kinda starting to unnerve Dave. Usually he was the one ignoring John, not the other way around. “What’s up, dude?”

John finally looked over at him and, Dave would swear, for a moment, studied him, before grinning tiredly. “Nothin’, man, just fuckin’ wiped-out. You mind if I crash on your couch? I’ll fall asleep behind the wheel at this rate.” 

“Sure, whatever. I’ll get a blanket.” Dave forced himself to his feet. 

“You don’t have to—” 

“Nah, it’s fine.” 

As he nabbed the blanket from the closet he kept all the spares in, it occurred to him that John wouldn’t typically give two shits about falling asleep while driving, and wouldn’t have even thought of it. Somehow, Dave was glad for a change of pace.

He came back out and started to say, “I found one with only a _couple_ bloodstains on it. You’ll just have to lie down strategically to—” 

At that point, he rounded the corner of the couch to see John snoring away, head lolled back, hands still in his lap. He looked like someone just pressed his ‘off’ button and left him there. Dave walked over and debated just draping the blanket over him, but decided John would probably rather not get his suit all wrinkled, or whatever. That, and he was likely to drool on it, _plus_ the damned things were far from comfortable. Dave set the blanket down next to him, then gently shook John’s shoulder. “Hey.” 

John jolted slightly with a snort, then looked back and forth to get his bearings before looking back up at Dave. “Huh?” 

“Get out of your monkey-suit _before_ you pass out, man. There’s your blanket.” Dave poked at the blanket. “Seeya tomorrow.” 

“Oh.” John looked at the blanket, rubbed his eyes, then, as Dave walked off to join Amy in his bed, answered, “Goodnight, my darling husband.”

“ _Don’t_ call me that.” 


	2. Chapter 2

A month or so after the whole fake-wedding debacle, it just so happened that one of the rare mornings Dave and Amy were both awake for breakfast at the same time occurred. They were sharing a pot of coffee, relaxing for a moment; Dave was never a morning person, so not much conversation was being had. This was a good thing, in Dave’s opinion, because last night they’d had another extremely awkward conversation about the whole fake-wedding debacle. He couldn’t forget John in that dress and it had been really nagging at him, unpleasantly… So he was enjoying the peace of a silent breakfast, devoid of awkward and uncomfortably-soul-bearing conversation. Until Amy, after a contemplative sip of coffee, decided to ask Dave a question.

“Do you want to date John?” 

The question completely blindsided him, and his default reaction was to panic, splutter, and eventually produce words. “Whuh—Amy, I’m not gonna break up with you—I’d _never_ break up with you, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, I’ll never—”

“Dave,” she interrupted gently, putting a hand to his arm, “that’s not what I asked. I _know_ you won’t. I’m asking, do you want to date him?”

If he thought he was confused before, he was wrong. Or he’d hit a new level of confusion that made every other time he’d ever been confused in his life pale in comparison. “ _What?”_

“You know, you _can_ date both of us. If you want to. I think he’d be fine with that. I definitely would be.” She patted his arm with a grin. “I don’t mind sharing!” 

Dave felt like he was going to wake up any minute now. This couldn’t be real, whatsoever. He must have been mishearing her, or she was pulling his leg. There were two different things baffling him: both the concept of her not minding ‘sharing’ and the concept of him dating John. “...What?” 

She laughed. “I promise you this isn’t a trick. I really do mean it. It’s okay if you decide you don’t—and you don’t have to answer right away, either!—but I just want you to know.”

He wasn’t sure how to react to any of this, so he just choked out an, “O-O...kay…” 

“Just think about it.” She stood up. “I’ve gotta go to work—” she gave him a quick kiss— “I’ll see you later. Love you.”

“Love you too,” he mumbled, still a little shell-shocked, as she left.

* * *

He couldn’t deny an allure to the idea. The more he considered it the more he realized he wouldn’t mind, at all, actually. After all, nothing would really change, wouldn’t it? He’d just actually have a reason to feel the way he does sometimes—that split second of a protective instinct when John does something stupid and reckless, the impulse to run a hand through that ratty blonde hair, the thought to grab hold of John’s hand sometimes (which he _really_ couldn’t explain away as anything else), the way he felt like he’d die if something happened to John—and an excuse to _do_ those impulsive things instead of forcing himself not to think about it. And maybe John wouldn’t mind. Would he? That paranoid thought was really the only thing holding him back now. What if John didn’t want that? What if he was revolted by the idea? Sure, the guy asked him to marry him—but that was fake! It was just a set-up to get some cool shit from a billionaire or two. Wasn’t it? It _did_ strike Dave as odd that, of all the friends and acquaintances that John had, he picked Dave. But he said it was a joke… and maybe the joke was more “Dave, of all people,” than “fake wedding as a concept.” He was _terrified_ of that. 

He stared at the bedroom ceiling, flat on his back, thinking carefully. Amy was curled up beside him, back pressed to his side. Despite not facing him and being, presumably, half-asleep, she still knew something was bothering him. “You okay?” 

It came rushing out before he could restrain himself. “I’m scared I’d lose John if I asked him.” 

There was a pause and he almost had enough time to start panicking over having admitted that before she rolled over with a big smile. “You figured it out?” 

“Figured wh—”

“That you like him.” The grin was almost teasing, but not unkindly. “You’d wanna date both of us?” 

“I. I mean. If that’s fine.” He wasn’t secure enough in this to be teased yet, and he was almost regretting saying anything at all. 

“Of _course_ it is.” She reached up to cup his face gently. Then her voice slipped into a conspiratorial tone. “Can I tell you a secret?” 

For whatever reason, his heart dropped, certain this was some kind of bad news. “Uh, sure?”

“John likes you.” 

Dave stared at her, struggling to comprehend. “He… what?” 

“He’d date you, if you asked. So long as he knows I’m okay with it, which I am.” She snuggled into him. “You can ask him tomorrow, if you want. Or right now—I know he, like, never sleeps.” 

“Uh. Tomorrow.” Now Dave felt plagued with an entirely different sort of anxiety. How the hell would he ask? How the hell should he start _that_ conversation? He’s too much of a coward to, and he knows it. But now he’s gone and put himself in this halfway point, an unpleasant in-between; labeling how he felt but doing nothing about it would just make him uncomfortable. And _that_ might ruin things between him and John all on its own. But doing anything about it was equally terrifying...

“Tomorrow.” She agreed in a yawn, and it felt like some kind of blood pact had been sealed. Dave still couldn’t sleep.

* * *

Two weeks before that, John had drunkenly called Amy to ask her about “a problem,” which, after an hour-or-so of talking, had been revealed to be _not_ a problem, after all. He was, as far as she could tell through his drunken rambling, having some kind of a crisis over why on earth, of all his friends, Dave’s name was the first that popped into his head when he started considering pretending to marry someone. The logic he was trying to use to excuse himself was simply that Dave was his best friend, of course, his closest and longest friend (for some reason, he brought up that he was friends with Dave before she even really knew he existed, which was extremely funny to her), but that wasn’t quite working to soothe him. What he was looking for was for Amy to parrot this back to him, but she wasn’t having it. She was no therapist, of course, but this was familiar ground; she’s always had more friends online than offline, and helping some of them figure their shit out was par for the course, really. 

So she gently talked John through the revelation that maybe, _just_ _maybe_ , it wasn’t quite ‘just friendship’ there. Which, in retrospect, was also extremely funny, given it’s not like John has been particularly covert about his sexuality. The crisis seemed more to originate from the fact that it was Dave, who was 1) already in a relationship (with her, as John felt the need to clarify) and 2) incredibly closed-off, all the time, to everyone except for the two of them, with whom he was _slightly_ _less_ closed-off.

Once _that_ was settled (which took at least three passes at a very circular conversation), she spent some time reassuring John that no, she wasn’t mad at him for feeling that way (not at all telling him she’d already figured this out practically from the get-go) and no, she wouldn’t tell Dave, it would be up to John to do that, if he felt like it. She only hung up after a ten-minute silence wherein she was pretty sure John had either passed out or forgotten he was on a phone call. 

She did feel a little bit bad for breaking that second promise, but she also knew if she didn’t give Dave that kind of encouragement, he’d talk himself out of it before even trying. And to be fair, she didn’t tell Dave that _John_ told her, and he didn’t ask. So, she could’ve found out from anyone, or through osmosis even. If he did ask, she could always swear herself to secrecy on it, anyways, though she could tell from his reaction that despite her efforts he was in full “sweep it under the rug” mode. This was going to take just a little bit more work. 

She was more than willing to do it.

* * *

A few days after Dave had promised he’d call John tomorrow, during which time he kept coming up with all manner of wild excuses not to do it, Amy decided enough time had passed. Mostly, she had realized Dave was starting to avoid John altogether, whether he was aware of it or not, and she wasn’t about to let that happen. So before Dave woke up that day, she’d called John to hang out that evening (and, perhaps, dropped a few hints, though she wasn’t sure John actually got them), and once Dave woke up she gave him enough time to have some food, fully wake up, and then decided to tell him as he sat down on the couch.

“By the way, John is coming over later today.” She said nonchalantly. Far too nonchalantly. The kind of nonchalance that’s so stressed it no longer works. 

Dave froze and side-eyed her, already worried. “Oh.” He hadn’t exactly been avoiding the guy, or if he was, he’d never admit it, but he _had_ been avoiding dealing with his feelings, as per usual. And this felt like a setup.

“Maybe you could take this opportunity to ask him?” She nudged. 

Definitely a setup. “Maybe.” Dave answered in that tone that always meant _definitely not, but I’m too scared or polite to say so._

“Oooooor maybe he’ll take the opportunity to ask _you_.” There was that same too-much-nonchalance again, and Dave felt like he’d swallowed a rock. 

“Did you _tell_ him?” He hadn’t wanted to sound accusatory, but he was starting to panic. 

“I didn’t say it _directly_ , but I may have _hinted_ ,” she confessed.

He was already planning escape routes. “So… he doesn’t know for sure?”

“Don’t you _want_ him to know it’s mutual?” 

“It—I, uh—” Dave completely lost his hold on the English language and sputtered for a solid few minutes before giving up. He did, and he didn’t, and he was terrified of the outcome either way, whether it would just ache forever or work out right. He knew if he lost John, he’d never feel quite whole ever again, but the other outcome was such completely new territory. It felt like doing a risky dare. He didn’t want to seem weak, and it probably wouldn’t be that bad in hindsight, but he was still scared. 

“You know, if you want, _I_ could tell him.” She offered gently. 

He gave her a puzzled look, and she smiled so gently back at him. “You… huh?” 

“I could call him and tell him you’re open to the idea of dating him, and how I’m willing to share.” There was that word again, _share_. It still felt so incredibly bizarre to Dave. “Would that be easier?”

Would it? He wasn’t sure. It lifted a little weight from his shoulders, sure, but it was so… _embarrassing_. Like he was hiding behind her. “...Yeah, it would.” He admitted. Cringeworthy though it may be, it really _would_ be easier. She was better with words and he knew she’d be just so terribly honest, too, whereas he would definitely be trying to backpedal and downplay. 

Somehow he wasn’t expecting her to immediately pull out her phone and dial John. He almost wanted to joke about why she had him on speed dial, but of course he’d immediately panicked and regretted telling her it’d be easier. “Wait, hold o—”

“Nope! Now or never, babe,” she answered with a slight laugh. “Just hang on. If you want me to talk _for_ you, you better be quiet.” 

“I—!” Dave wanted to protest, but found he really couldn’t. He didn’t want to tell John himself, and Amy clearly wasn’t going to let him get out of it. She let him have days of opportunities to do this himself, but he knew he couldn’t. Defeated, he sighed, pinching his brow for a moment. “...Fine!” 

She giggled, and held the phone up to her ear, giving Dave a look that said “you better stay quiet” before her focus switched back to her phone. “Hey, John!” 

John, on the other end of the phone, hadn’t been expecting another call from Amy, but fortunately wasn’t in the middle of doing something stupid quite yet. “Oh, hey, Amy! Good timing. What’s up?” 

“I gotta ask you something.” Amy glanced over at Dave, who was staring at her like he’d seen a ghost.

She tried very, very hard not to laugh at him as John responded. “Oh yeah? What is it?” 

“Dave wants to know if you like him,” she said, just as casually as if she were talking about the weather. 

“Of _course_ I like him. He’s a great guy,” John answered, in a tone Dave would have immediately recognized (were he able to hear it) as that sunny, somewhat-gentle, time-to-cheer-Dave-up tone usually reserved for when Dave called himself a worthless piece of shit when within John’s earshot, “and whatever he’s going through right now, it’ll get bette—”

“No, no, like, he wants to _date_ you.” Amy interrupted bluntly. Dave wanted to die. His heart clenched and he forgot how to breathe, staring at Amy, wide-eyed and white-knuckled.

For Amy, a surprised pause followed as John processed that before blurting, “Wait, really? _Actually_ date me? Are you serious?!” His voice buzzed with that tangible and infectious trademark John Excitement. 

“Yeah, I’m serious.” 

“Holy shit. Okay. Hey, I’m gonna come over now. Like _right now_.” 

“Yeah, I figured. Seeya!” She hung up, then turned to Dave, who looked paler than a ghost. “He said yes.” 

“Are you _sure_?” He asked, and she tried as hard as she could not to laugh. 

Technically he hadn’t said the _word_ ‘yes,’ but his tone was hard to mistake, so Amy didn’t consider it a fib to say so. “Yeah, I’m sure. I’m dead sure.” 

Dave wanted to believe her. And technically, he did, but he was also absolutely certain it would all go wrong somehow. He could trust Amy, of course, but he couldn’t trust his own luck. It was going to go wrong, most definitely, and he was just waiting for that inevitable left turn. And he couldn’t fuck this up. He couldn’t lose John, ever. He’d rather die; it’d be worse than Amy leaving him for a better guy (though not as bad as Amy leaving him for a _worse_ guy). He could _not_ fuck things up with John.

So he sat for a solid fifteen minutes, a veritable bundle of nerves on the couch, running through what he could say to get out of this and coming up empty. Beside him, on a chair with a pillow against her back, Amy calmly read a book, entirely unaffected. Somehow that made him even more tense than if she’d seemed at least a little nervous. It felt like she knew more than him (and she did) or that she didn’t care, which, despite her referring to it as ‘sharing,’ still felt real enough to make him nervous. He didn’t want to lose either of them. He felt a little like he was standing on a cliff, teetering over the edge, and he couldn’t tell if he’d fall first or if the thin rock he stood on would crumble under his weight.

All at once, John practically _busted_ in the door, like he was the fucking Kool-Aid Man, yelling, “AMY SAID YOU LIKE ME!” at the top of his lungs. 

“What?! No!” Dave spluttered, before remembering that he was there for that happening, and yes, he did. “Wait, yeah. I—Sorry, I forgot what we were talking about.” 

He’d never been particularly smooth. Amy was doing her damnedest to be nice, stifling her laughter, and John was far too excited to really notice, but Dave was _already_ floundering. _This is why you never got a date in high school, Dave_ , he told himself as he struggled to think of something else to say. He didn’t know where to go from here. It’d be easier if it wasn’t John, of all people. Or would it? It had never been easy for him. He was used to people ‘settling’ for him, for however long they could bear it; he’d never had to genuinely try too hard, he guessed. He usually failed right away.

John sat down on the couch next to him, still grinning. “Is it true?”

“Is what true?” Dave tried to play dumb. Amy kicked his ankle gently. “Ow.” 

“Do you _like_ me!” 

“Well, you’re my best friend, so _obviously…_ ” He deflected. 

“ _David_ ,” Amy sighed, and he fidgeted. John glanced between them. 

Apparently, the word ‘love’ was just a bit too weighty for either of them, so they’d been reduced to a grade-schooler vocabulary of saying the word ‘like’ with a certain marked inflection. Amy couldn’t tell if it was hilarious or going to drive her nuts, but she wasn’t about to interrupt. She did, however, have a good idea to resolve this quickly. “Why don't we try writing this down?” 

“Writing it down?” Dave echoed, perplexed. 

“Yeah, like—hang on.” She got up and left for a moment. Dave looked at his feet, pointedly, while John stared at him. After what felt like the most uncomfortable five minutes of Dave’s life, she came back, two pieces of paper and two pens in hand. She stood before the couch, and Dave scooted to one side (away from John) to let her join, but she didn’t sit down. “Alright, here’s how this will work. It’s like a test, okay? Eyes on your own paper, circle the correct answer _and nothing else_.” At that last part, she cast a pointed look to John, as if she could read his mind and was already admonishing him for the thoughts in it.

She handed them each a slip of paper and a pen, then stood firmly between them, still in front of the couch. Dave’s paper read “Do you want to date John? Yes/No” while John’s read “Do you want to date Dave? Yes/No.” John, of course, immediately uncapped his pen, then started chewing on the end of it, looking down at the paper with a furrowed brow, as if he really had to think about it. Dave wasn’t paying attention, exactly—he was watching John in the peripherals of his vision, second-guessing himself all over again, chest a tight knot of anxiety.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when John moved again, immediately prompting Amy to speak. “ ** _John_** —What did I _just say?!_ You can’t just circle his name, you _have_ to circle either the _yes_ or the _no!”_ She snapped, and John snickered. Dave thumped his pen against his thigh, deeply nervous. Was John messing around, or was he just as afraid? Or was this whole thing a joke? What if he circled ‘yes’ on his paper only for John’s paper to be entirely blank? Or, well, not _entirely_ blank—give the man a piece of paper and a pencil and he _will_ most definitely draw a dick—but if it didn’t have a question on it, it may as well be blank, in his mind. 

John kept trying to peer over to see Dave’s paper, but Amy kept blocking him from peeking with a pillow to the face. He’d never been the most surreptitious (which, in Dave’s mind at the moment, further cemented the concept of this being some horrible prank. If John really did have feelings for him, surely he’d have noticed, wouldn’t he?), so he was being quite obvious about it. John, still snickering, pulled the pillow down just enough to look at Dave’s somehow-paler-than-usual face, and he could sense the little game wasn’t fun anymore for him, and he was just winding himself up further into an anxious spiral. Dropping the paper and pen (and pillow) on the table nearby, John cleared his throat. “Dave.” At the sound of his name, Dave flinched, turning to look with palpable fear. John stared Dave right in the eyes and declared, quite evenly considering his own nerves, “Alright, okay. Yeah, I _like_ you.” 

Dave froze, eyes scanning John’s face for any trace of a joke, but he only found a portion of his own anxieties reflected back at him. He still hesitated before asking, “Are you serious?” Some small part of him couldn’t shake the notion that his only two friends were about to laugh at and then leave him. 

But they weren’t. “I am. Amy, uh, said— _implied_ you felt the same…?” John prompted, a little bit more worry creeping into his eyes. 

Dave had to really exert an effort to stop himself from starting to bounce his leg. It felt like all the nervous energy in his body was converting to electricity. “Yeah.” He confessed in a quick, panicked bark, and he was _almost_ frightened enough to cry. He’d never admit it, but his voice rose at least half an octave.

It’s like the moment the coast was clear, John took the opportunity, before it could escape. Like he’d been waiting to do this for a long, long time, and he couldn’t contain himself anymore. Granted, he’d _always_ been immensely impulsive, so Dave shouldn’t have been surprised, but he still froze when John grabbed his face for a kiss. A very odd, not-exactly-ideal kiss, but a kiss. Even after John pulled back and let go of his face, he was still frozen, brain rebooting like an old computer running Windows ‘98. When he finally came back to his senses, John was giving him an expression Dave hadn’t seen him make before, but could be best described as “Did I just go too far?” This was something Dave would only realize in hindsight, though, because before he could even _begin_ to think about that he lunged forward, dragging John into a mildly-better kiss. One with less of a collision-of-teeth, though not by much. It was still a mess, of course, but it’s not like Dave hadn’t imagined it would be. In some ways, that was almost the best part. 

Dave let go of him, pulling back, and then what they’d just done actually registered in his brain. “Holy shit. Okay.” 

“Okay?” John tilted his head a little, unsure but still grinning. 

“Yeah. Yeah.” 

To everyone’s surprise, John breathed a sigh of relief, and ran a hand through his hair. “Thank fuck. I worried for a minute there I’d fucked everything up.” 

Dave laughed, which _also_ surprised everyone, and any tension left in the room evaporated entirely as John started laughing too. Amy looked incredibly pleased with herself, practically grinning from ear to ear. 

“Hey, while we’re all here,” she started brightly, and both turned to look at her, “why don’t we all do something? Like, a movie night.” 

“It’s the middle of the afternoon.” John pointed out. 

“Movie _day?”_ She amended, a little imploringly. She really just wanted to find an excuse for the three of them to relax for a while.

“Sounds like a good idea to me.” Dave shrugged.

“I’ll make popcorn!” Amy walked past the couch. “It’s John’s turn to pick a movie, isn’t it?” 

“I think so.” 

“Oh, right!” John stood up. “I left it in the car. I just—” He looked almost embarrassed for a moment—“I was excited.” He hustled out of the apartment. 

And Dave was left sitting by himself on the couch, feeling altogether new and the same at once. Nothing changed, and yet it felt like everything did, in the best way. A change he didn’t feel threatened by; rather, it felt like a weight had lifted. 

He could get used to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well !! i feel like this is prolly Quite outta character and Not Very Great, but I hope y'all at least enjoyed the ride


End file.
